May 2nd
by pendurhh
Summary: It's that time of the year again for Victoire. She's good at memorizing things, and she's been trying to memorize this for 6 years. While it seems like her family have been trying to forget it. Set after DH, Canon. Teddy/Victoire implied.


The clear spring dawn shined through the gap in the faded hangings that were pulled securely around her four-poster bed; she stares with her sharp russet eyes at the single ray of light that shone on her wrinkled bed sheets.

_Time to arise_, she decides. She gently pushes her covers away and sits up wearily. She feels drained, but she knows what she's got to do today.

She winces as her delicate feet hit the cold hardwood floor of her dorm, the floorboards creak quietly as she travels silently around the muted dorm, trying not to stir her roommates from their slumber. She dresses warmly even though the sun shines brightly on the fresh dew of the green grass outside her open window.

The corridors are dead as she strolls purposefully through the many twists and turns, eyeing the many suits of armor with pride. She deftly jumps over the vanishing step as she makes her way into the echoing Entrance Hall, and she glances briefly at the corridor that leads to the kitchens, then at the four sparkling hourglasses, filled with scarlet rubies, olive emeralds, navy sapphires, and golden topaz.

When she finally emerges outside she breathes the fresh Scottish air deeply into her lungs. Melancholy fills her heart as she eyes the heartbreaking blue of the cloudy sky. Her shoes get damp as she strides slowly to that certain place in the Hogwarts grounds that she is so familiar with.

She eyes the flimsy bluebells flowering around the shining marble monument, _always bluebells,_ she thinks impassively.

Bluebells signify constancy, she had looked it up in one of her Herbology textbooks, she also looked up the definition of constancy, and now she had memorized it.

''Constancy,'' she spoke aloud softly, ''noun, steadfastness, as in purpose or affection; faithfulness or loyalty.''

Her golden hair flirted with the gentle breeze of the spring morning.

She sat gracefully on the damp grass directly in front of the immaculate marble monument.

The statue of the majestic, regal, gracious, phoenix, proudly erected next to the tomb of Hogwarts' greatest Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

On its feathers and plumage, inscribed over and over again, were names. And underneath it, the large plaque, with those eight words, those perfect eight words emblazoned for all to see.

Ever since she could remember she had come here on this very day, every year, her whole family would conjugate here to give their thanks.

Her mother always brought flowers, the most expensive, dazzling flowers money could buy.

Her father never brought anything, instead he would stand in stony silence, his normally luminous blue eyes were completely dull.

The first time Luna brought the twins with her they were eight months old. Lorcan had cried when Lysander had snatched his tatty toy wand away from him and placed it carefully on the marble memorial. They were now four years old but still going strong bringing another scruffy plaything to leave at the monument.

Mr. Creevey always brought his camera, every year, photographing everyone and everything; he used it as a buffer so he wouldn't have to speak to anyone.

Everyone had their own way of showing gratitude, expressing their appreciation at the sacrifice so many made to make the world safe from evil

For the last seven years, on this day, she had been memorizing them all, closing her eyes, she could still felt the affectionate morning sunlight on her eyelids.

She opens her soft pink lips and begins her chant, her mantra;

''Nymphadora Lupin. Remus Lupin. Fred Weasley. Severus Snape. Colin Creevey...''

Names, and more names, over fifty names. Fifty people. Fifty lives.

Fifty pairs of parents that will never get to embrace their child again.

Fifty people that will never see the peace of the secure Wizarding society they all fought and died for.

Fifty people who that will never be able to just live, walk under the starlight and express their delight at how beautiful the moon is.

Fifty people that will never be able to do anything again.

Fifty.

At least fifty.

More than fifty.

Much more than fifty.

Finishing her mantra, her brown eyes open slowly and are flooded with soundless tears that trickle down her rosy cheeks.

She knows the name of them all. Every name committed to memory. The name of every miraculous, marvelous martyr.

Caught up in her thoughts she doesn't realize that he is sneaking up on her. Not until it's too late,

''Victoire?'' he asks cautiously, and places a cool hand on her shoulder.

She turns to him unhurriedly, her bottomless brown eyes still gleaming with tears.

She doesn't wipe them away, and neither does he because they both know that more are sure to fall.

''Why are you crying?'' he smiles at her carefully, caressing her cheek with his gentle touch.

''Why aren't you?'' She questions, confusion clouding her eyes.

''Your name is Victoire; Bill and Fleur named you for a reason. And today is May the second. It's the day we celebrate your birth, and our parents' victory. Everyone's victory. The world's victory. There is no reason to cry.'' His wise words during his solemn moment make Victoire reflect about how his story is so similar, yet so different to Uncle Harry's.

They both walk away from the tribute, hand in hand. They won't go back inside the castle, they will wait until their family arrives for the annual service, and Aunt Hermione will cry with Grandma Molly, like every year, and Uncle Harry will be somber, like every year. Uncle George might be drunk again.

But her father will be their light at the end of the tunnel on this dark day, his wrinkled skin will pull up slightly as a smile graces his scarred face. His eyes will twinkle and his thoughts will be light, because he has accomplished life's biggest victory.

Acceptance.

They would all listen as Uncle Harry gave his speech, but Victoire wouldn't.

She would stare at the light shimmering off of the polished plaque, its inscription rang truer than any words she had ever heard spoken.

''_Every one of us shares the supreme ordeal.'' _

**A/N: This sort of came to me after reading Cauterize by Lady Altair which is something that I recommend you all do (Seriously, go read it right now.), and I actually had no idea who the girl was till about half way down the second page, but then I thought Victoire, she just fits perfectly.**

**I know people are reading, so like, a quick 2 line review wouldn't hurt.**

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